Feitan Makes Me Go Feral - Blog Posts

Rush ii.

He does not flinch while you disinfect his wound. There’s no reaction. Normally you’d expect a person to hiss in pain at the uncomfortable stinging sensation created by the alcohol cleansing the wound. But he does not react, he does not move. It’s almost as if he doesn’t feel any of it at all. Staring at your hands moving, his eyes seem incredibly emotionless, almost lifeless. He doesn’t seem to be at all alarmed at the severity of his wounds. You wonder would his face be the same even if he was bleeding out on the ground? 

You should be running for your life. But instead here you are – treating the wounds of a potentially dangerous stranger. Yet you cannot ignore someone in such state, your naïve kindness forces you to stay and act. The air is heavy and you are sweating uncontrollably, but you feel so cold from his gaze trying to not shiver while you can almost feel his breath against your skin. If not a mere lunatic, perhaps actually a murderer. You try to not think about his answer to when you asked who caused these wounds. 

Moving closer to pull the bandage over the torso, you try to clear your mind of such panicked thoughts. His eyes are now glued to your face, studying it almost religiously while trying to find out every secret your eyes hide. You notice his body become stiffer  as your arms envelop him and bring the bandage up to the front through his back. Stepping away, you avert your gaze to the ground, perhaps feeling a bit guilty for having breached his personal space a bit. Not like he didn’t do the same thing to you the moment you stepped in here.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you I was going to get closer,” you apologize not wanting to upset him and possibly compromising your own life. After all, he’s clearly stronger than you. No matter his injuries, you feel that he’s the one in control. 

“No care,” he simply answered, ripped the bandage roll from your hands and finished the job, ”I faster.”

“Oh.”

“And better,” he added and you immediately went red in the face.

Why did he let you do all of that then? Dumbfounded and confused, you just freeze up with your hands in the air as they were previously holding the bandages. True to his words, he quickly corrects your mistakes and dresses the rest of the wounds up by himself. Was there perhaps something more to his lifeless gaze when you were bandaging him up? Maybe a little hint of mischief and enjoyment he saw when you made a fool of yourself in front of him.

“Then why…” shame and slight annoyance mix in your voice.

“Fun watching you,” he says with a malicious grin forming on his face. You swear you’d punch him if he wasn’t injured and possibly dangerous. Feeling your eyes sting and slightly water, you avoid eye contact. Rather not risking your fate, you clench your fists behind your back, digging nails into your skill. The pain calms you a little.

“Okay,” you take a deep breath in in an attempt to steady your voice, “Then I’ll be on my way if I’m not needed.”

Struggling to even look back at him after you’ve just been ridiculed by trying to even help him, you turn on your heel to leave the bathroom. As you grab the door handle, you feel a stronger force push you back. The door opens, hitting your head you stumble back in confusion.

Ah, you remember, these were the men’s toilettes.

A hunk of a man is staring back at you in bewilderment. His large build and weathered face exudes slightly more fear in you than the smaller bloodied lunatic who messed with you a second ago. There’s something more threatening about a man that’s twice your size than a guy you tower over by at least a head even if he’s completely covered in mud and wounds.

“What’s a pretty looking thing like you doing in here?”

You feel disgusted by his words almost instantaneously. These kinds of men never mean something good behind those sly backhanded compliments. Feitan behind you simply laughs at your misfortune, although it’s more of a cackle. Turning your head even more to ground, almost hunching over, you quickly collect yourself not daring to look at any of them.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…” you run out face covered with hands not sure if you want to scream or cry. 

“Did I interrupt something?” you hear the guy say behind your back. The connotations make you feel even more mortified. You do not hear Feitan’s answer to his question, if he even answered, you do not wish to hear it. Slapping last of your money on the counter for the first aid kit, you run out not even bothering to wait for your change. You felt like your heart couldn’t stand being there even a minute longer, hearing any more sound.

The image of the shirtless injured man you just met, Feitan, with you trying to dress his wounds morphs into something way more inappropriate in your head. Your hands around his muscular torso, his eyes glued to your face, both of your bodies leaving almost no space for god. His quiet warm breath on your skin. 

Your cheeks burn as you are hit with the outside air. The smell of gasoline fills your nostrils. Yes – you can still escape from here, you have your beloved junk of a car. You can pretend this never happened, maybe you’ll sometimes visit the scene in your dreams with a slightly different outcome but no one has to know any of that. It’s not like you have anyone to tell but you can still get far away from here. Far and further from today’s mess up. 

You swear in your head to be a better person, to never accidentally run someone over and to never look like a creep in the wrong bathroom. Sure, your circumstances would pardon the whole awkward situation but you weren’t thinking straight, your judgement was clouded by adrenaline, by Feitan.

This wasn’t you, you were acting abnormally. Usually, you would at least try to rationally explain the situation.  It felt like meeting him awakened something within you. Or maybe you’ve been away from people for too long, forgetting how to act like a normal functioning adult. 

Running into your car you slid down and relaxed yourself on the driver’s seat, leather sticking to your sweaty exposed skin. You felt like your heart is going to escape the enclosure of your ribcage. The whole world was spinning before your eyes, not having drunk enough water as usual you felt like you were on the verge of passing out. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath in and out.

“Fuck!” screaming at the top of your lungs in frustration, you threw your hands over the steering wheel. Surpassing the urge to cry you stick the car keys in and start the engine.

It will all be better, you tell yourself, you just need to get away and forget. 

“Going somewhere?”

Screaming at the top of your lungs you hug your chest defensively and throw yourself on the card door hitting your head in process. Feitan, who’s just casually sitting in the passenger seat stares you down. Now fully clothed in black leather, face covered by his shawl – although you could tell by his eyes that he was enjoying your fear and bewilderment he caused like a gourmet dish. His sadistic nature becomes more evident, escaping the enclosure of his beautifully sculpted face and body. 

“What are you doing in my car?” you screamed at him panicked, sweat rolling down your temples.

He simply lets out a small chuckle and slowly pulls out his blade. You can almost see your reflection on his freakishly clean and sharp katana, its handle looks like a part of an umbrella. His fingers slide across its surface with a level of artistic precision, long nails trace the edge. If you didn’t feel enough threatened when he had you pinned against the wall, then you definitely felt like that now. You hold your breath, as if that could help you, your eyes not leaving the blade.

“You said,” he begins calmly, his raspy voice filling the space, reverberating in your ears, ”you’ll do anything.”

Your eyes widen, remembering your very own foolish words, that you said back in the bathroom just mere minutes ago. What more could he want from you? Your silence on whatever happened? No – he would’ve already killed you for that, after all - only the dead cannot speak. Perhaps… No. No! Is this situation like the dark romance movies and books you’ve heard of? You feel your cheeks burn, thoughts running wild, surely that stuff doesn’t actually happen in real life. Though you have to admit, you are at least mildly attractive even on your bad days.

Seeing your expression and brightly red cheeks, he cackles: “Not that.” You immediately feel ashamed for yourself for thinking that way. You thought of it even before he did, perhaps you are the bigger creep between the two of you.  Even though your thoughts are largely influenced by stress, panic and adrenaline, you still have to admit that you find him weirdly attractive. Muttering a quick sorry, you turn away. 

“Drive.”

“Where?” you quietly ask while starting up the car engine.

“To Yorknew.”

You halt your actions in disbelief.

“But that’s thousands of kilometers away!”

“So?”

“It’ll take me at least a week or more to get there with stops to sleep!”

“So?”

You sigh in frustration. Seeing the katana in the corner of your eye, you realize you don’t have a choice. It’s a do or die situation. You already feel the exhaustion coming over to you.

“Okay – but we’ll have to stop at the nearest motel or hotel, just whatever we find on the way. I’m way too tired and need to rest for today.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, but him putting his weapon away in an umbrella shaped casing is an enough of a sufficient answer to you. You feel more at relief knowing that he does not plan to hurt you any time soon. Adjusting the seat, he gets himself more comfortable, although, you can see it on his face and body that he stays alert no matter the position and illusion he creates. 

“Oh… wait, I need a map or something,” you remember your previous situation, that led you to the gas station in the first place and got you into this mess.

He nonchalantly pulls out a brand new navigation from his pocket, the newest model as well. Still packaged with a broken anti-thief casing. Oh, you realize right away. Your effort to protect the job of that gas station employee ended up in vain. But surely it’s more understandable now, right? You’re sort of held at a gun point – well technically a kinfe-point.

You hesitantly take it out of his hand, trying your hardest not to initiate a skin contact and possibly upsetting him. Muttering a quiet thank you, you set things up. It’s almost unrecognizable from your old junk that you used before. You can even set an additional stop! Finding a motel on the way, you set your destination as Yorknew. The big city you’ve always wanted to see. Maybe this will all lead to something better. You’ll see sights you’ve always wanted to, but were too scared of because of the distance. Plus - you’ll definitely appreciate your own life more after this. 

You shudder at the distance number you see on the screen. Maybe you should be even praying your own car can take so much, it  definitely won’t be an easy ride. You carefully get out of your parking stop, then leave the gas station. Driving always stressed you out before, but somehow now a second presence in the car calmed you down. Even if that presence was of a lunatic and possibly a murderer.

Not trying to attempt a conversation, you speed up, enjoying the almost empty highway. You do not dare to even sneak a glance at him, though you can feel him watching you. The strange feeling his cold gaze evokes in you never leaves you throughout the calm and quiet drive. You learn to find comfort in it. 

Rush

//i may continue this as a slowburn fic with more chapters//

no trigger warnings, maybe just feitan being his own warning

Now you were definitely lost. You clutched the steering wheel and let out a loud grunt. The navigation gave up on you an hour ago. Unbeknownst to you how, the thing’s screen just went black with a slight buzz. Completely on its own. 

Okay, maybe you were partly at fault there. Mashing the buttons just to stop it from being frozen definitely did not help it. Well there might be more to the story – like for example, when you threw it on the backseat of your car. Maybe those anger management classes your therapist advised were not totally a bad idea. 

Though you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place if your junk of a car had a built in navigation. But it was hard to put the fault at the car, after all, it was everything you had. Everything you owed. You said you wanted to get away from your life – your family, overly toxic relationships, all that stress and expectations you struggled to meet. Travel god knows where without any idea or a plan. But somehow you could never travel without a destination set in your navigation. You found it hard to just start the engine and drive, to not think about what comes next. 

Noticing a traffic sign saying that a gas station is nearby on your way, you decided your next course of action. Again, you were choosing a destination, a goal, making a plan or schedule for you to go by. You blamed the absence of your spontaneity on your upbringing. It’s still hard for you to break the habit. But you can’t help but to listen to the logical part of your brain saying that you are at least going to need a map if not a whole new navigation. Besides, you were getting hungry. There’s no helping that.

Turning the direction indicators on you moved to the lane on your right ready to drive in the station. Feeling collision you harshly stepped on the brake almost throwing yourself through the front window. There definitely was something black and pale that just flew ahead of your car. It couldn’t have been a person right?  You weren’t going crazy just now right? You could swear that the speed it appeared, whatever it was, in front of your car was inhuman. Or were your reflexes just slowed down due to exhaustion? With your breathing picking up due to panic, you start to shake. You barely see anything through your watery eyes as you try to shakingly get out of the car. 

Whatever it was, you have to check. 

Holding onto your car for dear life you hurried in front to check. But there was nothing. No black piece of clothing, no blood, no person. You missed a few breaths as you hurriedly started checking your surroundings. There was nothing you could see that wasn’t already there before. The motorway you drove off. The somewhat bleak scenery. Cloudy weather with no sun soon in sight. As if it was just a fruit of your imagination. Delusion of your tired self. You decided that it’s probably for the better if you stay in the parking lot of the gas station for the night and try to get yourself together. 

You jumped as you heard the honking of a car that you accidentally blocked. Red in the face you hurried back and drove off to park your car. You weren’t exactly low on gas and now you were far too embarrassed to go tank your car among the people you just annoyed by your reckless behavior. Besides you need a second to actually catch your breath. 

Besides three other cars, the parking lot behind the station was almost deserted. Even though you should be happier about sleeping with less strangers around, it somewhat had an eerie undertone to it. You didn’t feel comfortable being this alone. 

Turning of the engine you slumped down your seat and let a deep breath out. No other cars behind you seem to have seen anything that you did. At least no one cared enough to point it out and alarm everyone about the situation. Maybe it really was just your own mind playing games with you. You didn’t feel like you have been awake for that long to be tired enough to see things. 

You heard quiet squeaking outside your car. Mice? No, it sounded like leather rubbing against the surface of the car. Hiding behind your seat, you searched your pockets. You kept a pocket knife on your person for all kinds of situation. Reaching in deeper, the only thing you could find were old receipts you forgot to trash away. No sign of your weapon. 

“Shit.”

Where was it? You shakingly started searching floor of your car. You couldn’t have lost it right? It was your only means of self-defense. Now you even hear footsteps closing in. That’s definitely a person. You turn the engine back on and whatever you heard seems to have fled. Turning it off again, you quickly get out of the car. 

But there was nothing. Nothing. No human being would be able to get away so fast. You checked under the car. There really was just nothing. Checking your pockets, you found your knife again. You were far too tired. It was probably just all in your mind.

Right?

You have to buy something to eat. You have been abusing your own health far too much. Walking to the station, your surroundings feel lot more peaceful. The cold air burning into your skin. Leaves rustling all around you. Cars rushing by. No more suspicious phenomena’s creeping up on you.

Still, you felt oddly unsafe. 

You kept your head low as you walked into the store. You did not want to see any of the angry people you blocked with your car earlier. 

“Sir, will you please stop unpacking that first aid kit before paying!”

From behind the shelves, you heard the young girl’s voice who you presumed work at the station. She was pulling onto a shorter person who seemed to not respond to her cries. You froze on the spot. That black fabric, that pale skin peeking from behind it. You recognized right away from the earlier car accident. 

It was no illusion. You actually ran someone over.

“I’ll pay for it.”

You definitely did not think anything through before saying that. But ultimately it was most likely your fault that this stranger was injured. Despite their strange behavior, you had to help.

“Thank god! I don’t know what my boss would have done if he knew I let someone steal something again…”

The girl almost fell into your arms crying. Though you thought that her manager probably would not mind if she let this one slide and helped to treat the injured. While she was telling you almost her whole life story, you examined the strange person before you. 

Upon closer look you noticed that he’s a guy with rather a short stature. He did not seem to pay attention to any of you two. His coat was wrinkled and torn, you could see some blood stains along the leather. Knee-high shoes were completely covered in dirt and something you did not dare to identify. Half of his face was  covered by a bandana with a skull motive. And the rest of his face… Well, you couldn’t really see as it was covered by his messy raven black hair.

He grabbed his coat and started to take it all off along with his shirt over his head. You saw the cashier freak out. And frankly, you were freaking out right now too. The more you looked at him, the more wounds and blood you saw. 

“Please! Stop!”

You grabbed his arm and he halted all his movement. A pair of cold angry eyes stared at you through the hair. You froze on the spot. Just a look made you realize how dangerous the man standing mere centimeters next to you is. It was too hard to look him in the eyes. It felt like he was skinning you alive, you rather averted your gaze.

“I’ll help you… But let’s not do this here. Let’s go somewhere more private. Like the bathrooms… Alright?” 

“Private?”

He turned completely to you and raised an eyebrow. You realized the kind of connotations your suggestion might have had. Redness coming onto your face, you kept telling yourself to calm down. This was a strange dangerous and injured man who you might have hit with your car. 

“Sure.” He suddenly complied tearing out of your grasp walking towards the bathrooms. Walking slowly, turning back making sure you were following him. You hoped you wouldn’t regret this choice later. Your stranger-danger alarm was going off violently in your head. 

His figure disappears within the men’s bathroom and as much as this situation makes you uncomfortable, you follow him inside. Sudden force pushes you to the wall and before you can even realize, his inhumanely sharp nails are threatening to slice your throat. 

You forget to breath. How does even breathing works at this point? Sincerely – you have no idea. Forced to look into his cold eyes, you almost feel like crying. They are beautiful in a terrifying way – colorless and bone chilling. 

“Your deal?”

It’s almost as if he doesn’t talk but hisses. You feel the nails digging into your skin painfully slow. He’s so close his hair almost touches your face and you can feel his quiet breathing.

“I’m so sorry I ran you over!” 

You blurt out and close your eyes preparing for the worst.

“I’ll do anything so please don’t kill me!”

Peeking behind your eyelashes, you test the waters. It almost seems like he’s laughing at you. Second after that you are released falling to his knees on the cold dirty bathroom tiles. You can breathe again. Your heart is beating as if you just ran a marathon. This felt too surreal. 

He steps back and starts shedding his clothes. If you couldn’t tell from his strength before, now you could see his muscular body. Due to his baggy attire it was rather hard to tell at first glance. Deep slashes and cuts were littered across his pale skin, some older some newer than others. You could see that he tried to patch himself up at most places and that even if he did a good job, there were some wounds on his back that he couldn’t reach or take care of well. This is where you can make yourself useful. You have some medical knowledge from the days back before you abandoned everything.

Picking up yourself from the floor you unpack the kit. You can feel his stare on your back. Thankfully he kept on his pants – you weren’t in that type of danger. He lifts himself up to sit on the row of sinks and leans back against the mirrors. If he weren’t so wary of you, you could swear he would pass out of exhaustion right before your eyes. For a moment he almost seemed vulnerable. 

“I thought you someone else.”

He explained in his broken way of speaking. You didn’t expect of him to give you an actual explanation, why he attacked you – till now you didn’t even think he saw you as a person. At first you were to him like a mouse or a little ant he could squash any minute. Now you were another human being. You start working on his injuries making sure not to touch him too much. Any move could possibly agitate him again and then it would be over for you. 

“Can I ask… If it wasn’t me who did these injuries – then who?”

It may have been a bold move to ask him that. 

“Dead people.”

You stop and look up to him. Looking into his eyes seems much more easier now. Maybe you are getting more comfortable with him – perhaps too comfortable for the situation. 

“Maybe… Maybe I’d rather not know.”

Under your fingertips you can feel his body vibrate from his laugh. Though it’s more like a screech than a laugh, it makes the corners of your lips lift up too. No matter how odd the situation may have seemed, you felt oddly at peace. The adrenaline that ran through your veins just a moment ago gave you a feeling of rush, perhaps the one you were searching for. 

You resume your work.

“Feitan.”

“Hm?”

“My name.”

Strange feelings of excitement overcome you and even though you know that giving your name to a stranger covered in blood is a dumb idea, you decide to do so anyway. You give him your name and seal the acquaintanceship between the two of you. 

“Nice to meet you, Feitan.”

hmmmmm working on a slowburn comfort angsty feitan fic

usually not a fan of soulmate au BUT THIS IS SO GOOD SNDKKFK

I’m such a sucker for a soulmate au! The Uvo one was amazing, would you write one for feitan?

Au where every mark/scar/tattoo appears on the other person as well and u die if ur soulmate dies

It wasn’t an uncommon practice.

A lot of prominent families that were publicly well-known tattooed every single one of their members with a symbol. The symbol slightly differed per member, as to easily match the soulmates together as soon as the tattoo had been verified. People waking up with such a mark couldn’t hide it forever after all, and most didn’t want to. Why hide such a thing when it meant you were meant for royalty or riches?

It wasn’t like that for you.

As soon as the tattoo had formed on your leg, when you were about sixteen, you hadn’t minded it that much. You found it a bit tacky and big, but you weren’t that hung-up about it. That all changed when you watched the news a bit more.

More and more news items were broadcast about a group of thieves committing atrocities, which wouldn’t have shaken you up that much if the news-reader didn’t keep adding:

‘The band of thieves is recognizable by the large spider tattoos with numbers located on their bodies-’

As soon as you’d realized that you had ran to your parents like a little baby, crying and asking what to do. Your mother, ever the quick-thinker, immediately covered the tattoo with everything at her disposal while your father was still processing what it meant. 

While it wasn’t publicly endorsed, everyone knew what happened to the soulmates of criminals. Killing them would mean killing the criminal, which was often easier than finding and eliminating the original criminal. It was such a useful technique, even the state closed their eyes to the practice, only interfering when they deemed it necessary. 

You had even heard of special sort of bounty hunters, who went after soulmates instead of the criminals themselves.

The Phantom Troupe was known for their gruesome crimes, having no respect or care for human life at all. They probably had gigantic bounties on their heads, meaning you had a gigantic bounty on your head. Even if the tattoo was fake, who would be willing to take that chance?

This tattoo meant you were in danger and it meant that whoever got the tattoo was dangerous. 

Covering up had been quite easy, though it impeded on a lot of your life. You never could go swimming, you never undressed in front of others and you had to spend fifteen minutes every morning applying make-up to your upper-leg. Your mother had ingrained these things into your head, making sure that you never told anyone else, not even those you thought you could trust.

And for a long time, it went fine.

The fear of being found turned into a mild noise at the back of your head, quieted by the constant rituals you undertook to ensure it never came to be. In the end, how you were found out was still a mystery to you, but the method didn’t really matter at all. The question was who would find you first.

And for better or for worse, it turned out to be your soulmate.

Walking home at night never was a pleasant endeavor, but it was one you were forced to undertake every evening. Your bus didn’t stop anywhere closer, so the last two blocks between the bus stop and home had to go on foot. The necessity of it didn’t make the feeling any less though, the dark and bleak alleyways always creeping you out.

Blasting your music on a high enough volume to drown out your anxieties, you speed-walked toward your house. 

It was pretty late, so you had expected to be the only one on the street, thinking the rest of the city to be sleeping away in their beds. Mostly you were right, lights turning off all around you, though there was one man walking straight toward you coming from the opposite direction. 

It was always creepy to walk toward other people at such hours, but he gave off a really creepy vibe. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes straight toward you, not even pretending to look elsewhere. If only for the fact that you walked this piece of town every night, but you tried not to let it get to you, walking on with just the slightest bit of hesitance in your step.

He came closer, still staring straight at you, and you wished to God that he would just walk on. 

You lowered the volume of your music, finding the situation a bit too creepy to not keep your complete attention on it.

Closing in on you, he suddenly stopped walking and your heart skipped a beat, your hands digging into your pockets to push a key in between your knuckles just in case. The man was pretty small in stature, but his presence felt dangerous, and everything from his black coat to the cowl masking his lower face to the umbrella he was carrying just screamed suspicious.

It hadn’t even rained at all this week.

You tried to walk on, ignoring that he had just stopped, but he still looked directly at you. 

“Do you have no self-preservation?” He suddenly asked, making you halt immediately. If anyone else had tried to talk to you, you would’ve booked it, but his tone of voice demanded your attention above all else.

You turned slightly to him, pulling one earplug out of your ear. 

“Are you talking to me?” You asked, faking not having paid attention. He merely tilted his head, unimpressed with your acting.

You were about to put your earbuds back in and run away when he suddenly grabbed you by your hair. Releasing a sound of surprise and pain, you were about to scream when his other hand went to cover your mouth. He held a strength you hadn’t expected from him, yet it seemed to fit him seamlessly.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He added, short and curt with his words, talking in an accent you had trouble placing. You were about to try and pull away again when he pulled your hair further down. “And shut up.”

Your eyes widened, the force of his words and the glare attached easily shutting up any attempt at screaming you had planned. He seemed satisfied with your fearful gaze, removing his grip on your hair and mouth. His words weren’t sufficient enough to keep you quiet when his hand moved lower, right down to your legs, a soft yelp escaping you.

A terrifying glare was sent your way, making you sure his patience was running out. You shut yourself up again, looking around frantically to anyone else on the street, a new form of panic forming when you saw absolutely no one. 

A tear in your legging was not what you had expected when he’d moved his hands down, and they filled you with a new kind of fear.  The location of the tear was a bit odd for that, however, and you came to a sudden realization what he was looking for when he looked up in mild surprise as the skin beneath the legging was blank.

“Where is the tattoo?” He asked, though his question was said more as a statement than an actual question. When you looked away, not saying anything he suddenly gripped your throat tightly, his nails digging into your skin. You cried out in pain, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Where is it.” 

“Ma-make-up” You managed to croak out, the dark-haired man's nails drawing blood in your neck. Frantically your hands went to your tattoo, rubbing away the make-up, your skin hurting from the force and desperation you applied.

As soon as you managed to wipe away a small piece of the foundation, he let you go, re-assessing the now partially visible tattoo. You doubled over, wheezing up air as you were let go, your throat burning.

He chuckled at your state, the first sign of emotion besides annoyance you’d seen come out of him. “See? No self-preservation. What if I had been a bounty hunter? What would you have done?”

Still catching your breath, you looked up at him, the moonlight illuminating the small smile you could see behind the cowl. His eyes stood amused, though it wasn’t an amusement you felt the need to be acquainted with, too dark to be good news.

His hand cupped your chin, his thumb making soft motions on your cheek.

“What good news I found you first.”